


Fast and Slow

by DisasterMages



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 04:51:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19192180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisasterMages/pseuds/DisasterMages
Summary: Looking up, Aziraphale looks right back down again, eyes bearing into his tea instead of looking back at Crowley who was still staring at him. “You could go faster if you wanted to, Angel.” Aziraphale risks a glance up at Crowley when he says that, heat flooding into his cheeks.“I couldn’t ever go as fast as you, Crowley, I don’t believe it's a possibility for me.”





	Fast and Slow

Crowley is worse than dead weight as Aziraphale guides him up the front steps of the bookshop, his hands gentle but still steady in holding him up. “Easy does it, up we go.” Aziraphale keeps his voice low and even against Crowley’s own drunken muttering, struggling with the keys and keeping Crowley up all at the same time. “You could sober up anytime you like, you know.” It’s a reminder that he’d been repeating since the third time he’d pulled Crowley from a bottle of whiskey all those hundreds of years ago.

“Fat chance.” The words are slurred against his ear and out of the corner of his eye, Aziraphale can make out the sneer on Crowley’s face, but he knows it’s not for him. Aziraphale knows exactly who the sneer and the petulant tone of voice is for, but he only sighs in response, tucking his arm around Crowley’s waist and pushing the door open with his other hand.

If Crowley didn’t want to sober up on his own, Aziraphale would put him on the couch for the night and let him sleep it off the human way. “Not that bad off anyway.” Crowley mutters, an arm hanging off of Aziraphale’s shoulders and his eyes on the ground. Aziraphale rolls his eyes as they push their way through piles and piles of books that he hadn’t had the time to put on the shelf, most of the work falling on him before he can plop Crowley onto the sofa.

He isn’t expecting it when Crowley pulls him down right along with him, a sound of surprise jumping out of his throat as he barely manages to catch himself on the arm of the couch. “You should’ve been cut off hours ago, don’t think I didn’t see you work a miracle on the barkeep.” Crowley snorts at that, pulling his arm away from Aziraphale’s shoulders to put them up on the back of the sofa.

“I haven’t got any idea what you’re talking about, Angel, I didn’t do anything to that barkeep.” It’s a lie, a boldfaced, brazen lie that would’ve set Aziraphale’s tongue on fire if he’d been the one to tell it. He stands back with his hands on his hips and his mouth set into a straight line, maybe if Crowley hadn’t been a demon it would’ve been more intimidating, but Crowley only stares right back at him, his knees knocking together again and again idly.

Really, Aziraphale shouldn’t be surprised that Crowley was lying, it was in his nature, but that doesn’t mean he has to be happy about Crowley lying to him. “You,” Aziraphale starts accusingly, pointing his finger at Crowley, “are a terrible liar.”

“Am not.”

Aziraphale sputters and color rushes to his face. “You’re being childish, Crowley.” He was being childish too just for arguing with him, but Aziraphale wouldn’t have to admit to that unless Crowley sobered up almost immediately.

Crowley at least sits up when Aziraphale calls him childish, his glasses falling the rest of the way off and clattering to the floor and his elbows resting on his thighs. “Shouldn’t you be the bigger person then? Since you’re an angel and all that?”

Aziraphale can tell when he’s being goaded and he refuses to bite at what Crowley is throwing out at him. “You used to be an angel too, you should-”

“But I’m not anymore am I? That’s just it, isn’t it?” Crowley drops himself back against the couch then, serpentine eyes looking more sober than he’d been claiming to be and not at all like he’d just won an argument. Aziraphale knew what Crowely looked like when he’d won an argument and this wasn’t it at all.

Sighing again, Aziraphale lets him have that much, his hands hanging low at his sides now. “I’ll make us some tea, Crowley, stay here for the night so somebody can keep you out of trouble.” Aziraphale nearly stops himself from doing it, but then does it anyway, leaning down and patting Crowley’s knee as though that would give him some measure of comfort.

He’s only gone for a minute, getting the cups together and the water ready, they’ve known each other long enough that he didn’t have to waste a second wondering what sort of tea Crowley would want and how he would take it. When he does get back though, Crowley is stretched out on the couch, his legs and arms hanging off either end of it as Aziraphale sets down the tea tray.

“I never meant to fall, Angel, it just happened faster than you’d expect.” It’s another conversation that they’d had a few times over, but this time Crowley is looking over at him, staring Aziraphale down where he sits in a worn armchair.

“You’ve always moved fast, Crowley.” Aziraphale answers, taking up his cup to keep his hands to himself. “I’ve never known you to go slow with anything.” If Aziraphale is being honest, he’d envied how fast Crowley had been willing to go for centuries, but all he’d been able to do was watch with widened eyes and a certain fear that very nearly wasn’t fear at all.

Looking up, Aziraphale looks right back down again, eyes bearing into his tea instead of looking back at Crowley who was still staring at him. “You could go faster if you wanted to, Angel.” Aziraphale risks a glance up at Crowley when he says that, heat flooding into his cheeks.

“I couldn’t ever go as fast as you, Crowley, I don’t believe it's a possibility for me.”

Crowley gets up then, and Aziraphale looks up at him, his body going stock still as Crowley sways on his feet, struggling to get the world to hold still as he walks over. “For Hell’s sake, Aziraphale,” Crowley starts off standing at his side and Aziraphale forces himself to look up at him, swallowing slowly as Crowley sinks down to his knees, his head thumping against Aziraphale’s thigh, “do as you’d like, nobody’s going to stop you anymore.” Crowley makes a half hearted attempt to put his hand on Aziraphale’s thigh, but when it falls down to his lap again he leaves it, closing his eyes and pushing against Aziraphale.

“You’ve always been stubborn, Crowley, suppose that now isn’t any different.” Aziraphale’s throat feels tight as he says it, his hand starting to itch the longer he holds his cup. Slowly, as though he were moving through icy waters, Aziraphale sets down his cup on the chair’s arm and he holds his breath as he runs his fingers through Crowley’s hair, letting that breath go only when he doesn’t end the world with one touch.


End file.
